Alternte Realities: Under The Oak Tree
by Ehren Hatten
Summary: Cuchulainn, bored with heaven, comes to an old oak tree to while away a few hours, but one day he finds a woman there in his place. He sees this woman over and over again, but she always dies in the end. Perhaps she will live a full life one day? Chap 5 u
1. Chapter One

A/N: Hello one and all. I hope ya'll are having a good Christmas season so far. We haven't actually hit Christmas yet, but just asking no less. I still need to get to Austin to buy some supplies to make some things for Amanda and her mom, maybe even some books. :D

Alternate Realities:

**Under The Oak Tree**

_Chapter One_

In the middle of the old forest stood the old oak tree, whose saplings would be cut down to be made into various useful items and whose older children were cut down to make great doors that could withstand vast amounts of damage to protect the humans behind them. The tree stood in that one place for generations, always tall and grand with twisting limbs reaching out every direction. This tree was a sacred tree for its years and strength.

The tree saw many things in its long life. It saw children climbing its branches and falling off. It saw young people making love and older people enjoying its wide shade in the afternoon sun. Not at the same time, of course, but all the same it was a grand old tree, indeed.

The spirits enjoyed the tree as much as they did in life, but most moved on to other things and other lives; all except one. This one spirit had seen much in his brief but great life, and so chose to not continue on. It bored him a great deal to stick around in heaven with all the other souls, but he simply could not justify going onto another life, as much as it pained his dear wife to watch him grow rather apathetic toward things around him in the great beyond.

This spirit would come down to the old oak tree and sit underneath her great branches and listen to the life happening around him when heaven seemed far too boring to be around any longer. God, or whatever he was that called himself as such, seemed far too happy to allow him to leave the place than this spirit ever expected, but he took the gift for what it was.

He was born Setanta, but he had been named Cuchulainn later when he was still but a small boy, far smaller than any of the other boys around him. He had known when he was a child that he would grow up to be something greater than anyone could dream of. His father was the god of light and his mother a human princess. When he slew the great dog of Chulainn, he swore to take the dog's place as watchhound for the smithy until another dog could be raised. For this, Cuchulainn was named "Chulainn's Dog" and he bore the name proudly.

And he was very handsome indeed! His face was beautifully sculpted with red eyes and a head of rather shaggy blue hair on the top of his head and a long mane on the lower part of his head that he typically kept in a ponytail. In life, he was best known for being popular with the ladies. When he died, the women of his home wept for his loss.

Though he had never been to it in life, Cuchulainn enjoyed lying under the boughs of the great old tree and think about good times past and the events he could see around him. He would always come down and see the state of the people around him and the state of the old forest, but he always lost track of how long it was before he visited the old tree the next time. Each time he visited, the tree grew older and older, bigger and bigger until it finally died. Next to it would be another oak tree growing in its place and growing up like its mother before it.

At least it gave Cuchulainn the opportunity to gage time.

And so he sat under that child of the great old oak tree and came back to visit as it continued to grow up and grow as old as its mother before it.

One day, however, he found his usual spot a bit occupied. There under the tree lay a young woman wearing men's clothing, which was a brilliant jewel blue with gold trim. She was clearly royalty and clearly posing as a man, but he found himself almost compelled to speak to her somehow, even if she was snoozing in the afternoon shade of the oak tree.

The gold light of the sun filtering through the green leaves cast an almost ethereal glow to the young woman as he leaned over her silently. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a tight braided circle behind her head which glittered gently in the light of the sun like spun gold. Her face was gentle and calm, like the old tree she laid under. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were pink and full of youthful glow. Indeed, if he didn't already know her to be a young woman he could have mistaken her for a very pretty young prince from some fairy tale, though a very short prince. She opened her eyes up at him and he saw that they were as fair as she was; blue-green and clear like the ocean far away from her current position.

Cuchulainn smiled gently toward her and reached a ghostly hand to her face, using some of his seemingly endless energy to push a lock of gold hair from her cheek. "What maiden lies beneath the oak tree as if nothing could harm her?" he asked, grinning cheekily at her.

She frowned at him faintly and looked around before sitting up to rub her eyes with leather gloved hands. She seemed as though she could not see or hear him. This annoyed Cuchulainn greatly, for it was not often he found a beautiful girl like this one. He might be dead, but he wasn't blind or stupid.

"Oi," he called again, moving a little away from her as she yawned and stretched. "I said 'OI'," he called once more before growing a bit frustrated. "Damned cross dressing little wench," he grumbled as he moved up onto one of the long branches above her to lie back on.

"You don't have to be rude, you know," she said somewhat tartly. She looked straight ahead and frowned more as though she couldn't understand where she heard his voice from. She looked up finally as she heard the tree branch move slightly. "Are you up there?" she asked. She had a rather annoyingly articulate English voice, stiff and practiced with very little to show that she was indeed human.

"Can you not see me, then?" asked Cuchulainn. He snorted and leaned over a bit to look down at her easier, finding he really didn't need to bother anyway. Who had ever heard of a ghost falling off a tree branch?

"See you? No, I see no one, but I hear you well enough. A bit far from home, aren't you?" she said, eyeing his position with a practiced calm that only a royal could manage.

"Aye, I am a bit," he said, smirking faintly to himself.

She gazed up at the tree as though she would make it divulge its secrets with a mere look, but the tree didn't give up any. "What manner of spirit are you?" she finally asked after a long silence. "Are you some sort of demon come to tempt me to do harm?"

Cuchulainn snorted once more and rolled his eyes, moving back to lie on the tree branch once more. "You Christians are all the same. When you get a strange voice in a tree you automatically think it's some great demon come to torment you."

"If you aren't a demon, then what are you?" she asked, glaring up toward his general direction with some annoyance. So, she did have emotions, then?

"A ghost, of course," he said, grinning as much to himself as he was toward her. "Too bad you can't see me! I'm a right handsome dog, as well!"

Annoyance grew in intensity on her fair features, though she remained very calmly glaring up at his branch as though she were willing him to come down and talk to her properly. "A ghost? A ghost of an Irishman that sits in the boughs of an old oak tree? Was this a place you loved dearly in life?"

"Of course not! What would make you think that?" He laughed and shook his head before leaning over once more to look at the young woman. "What is your name, by the way?" he asked.

"Arthur Pendragon," she said, straightening a bit stiffly to appear as male and royal as possible. "I am the king of this land."

Cuchulainn burst out laughing and promptly fell off the branch, though he really sort of just floated to the ground and crouched there. In a way, crouched down as he was, he resembled a dog sitting and looking up at a person in that familiar friendly way dogs tend to have when greeting people. "I've seen many rather pretty young men in my life, but I know women far better. Believe me when I say you can't fool me one whit into thinking you're anything but a woman in men's clothing." He grinned more deviously now and took a nice long look at her from a bit closer up. "So, tell me, your highness," he said softly and slowly, "what is your real name?"

The young woman didn't turn, but she did shiver slightly when he spoke closer to her ear. He smirked and silently lauded himself for his exemplary skills in dealing with women. When she did speak, it was a softer, more feminine tone that came out than before. "Why should I tell a ghost? Especially one who might give me away easily," she said and then added quickly, "If I were a woman as you claim me to be."

"Smart and pretty! I like that sort of combination!" He leaned a bit closer and spoke in her ear as low as possible, his voice coming like a gentle breeze across her ear. "I won't tell a soul of your name, your highness. I swear it. Only I will have that privilege to speak it toward you should I see you other times."

"Do," she began and swallowed a bit loudly to steady her voice, "Do you mean to see me again?"

"If you come to this very tree I will swear to visit as well," he said softly.

She grew silent and looked as though she weighed the pros and cons of what she should say next before a voice called out her male name from not too far off. He forgot that there was a small road of sorts through these woods. He watched her regain her composure and stand up from her place under the oak tree.

"My lord! Come away from that tree, my lord! We need to leave!" There, by a pair of horses, stood a very tall man with one arm. He had long pale hair and fair skin, looking almost snowy in his appearance as well as rather feminine. But for all that feminine grace he seemed to possess Cuchulainn could still tell he was a man and very pretty man at that.

The young woman brushed off her trousers and boots before brushing off her cloak and tunic. When she finally spoke she only said one word before she turned away and walked to the man holding the horses ready for the two of them. "Arturia."

So, Cuchulainn watched as Arturia and the one armed man rode off through the old forest road to the light at the edge of it. He watched until they disappeared from sight and lay back under the tree as he had wanted to do before seeing her there. There, he silently hummed a tune that seemed to come from the wind itself before saying her name to it.

"Arturia."

* * *

The tree still stood silently from the last time Cuchulainn had visited it and he did find Arturia underneath it as he had the last time, but he found things far different than the time before when he had met her the first time. The one armed man was kneeling over her and he was removing blood stained armor from her body. Not far off, he could smell the stench of a battle field. In the distance, he could see the bodies littering the ground like so much waste.

He moved closer to see that same jewel blue tunic and cloak trimmed in gold, but now they were stained red with her blood. The white shirt underneath was dirty from dirt and sweat. The one armed man was crying silently as he gazed at his fallen king as Cuchulainn gazed at her sadly. Her gold hair which had been pulled back in that tightly braided circle behind her head was now down and around her shoulders.

"My king," said the one armed man softly, "I took the sword to the lady in the lake as you asked of me."

Arturia eyed him carefully and shook her head. "No, you have not. Please don't make me ask again. Take the sword to the lady."

Bedivere nodded and stood up before getting up on his horse and riding off as fast as he could. Cuchulainn watched with mild irritation at the man for not following Arturia's orders as she had clearly bade him do before, but his attention was soon taken by her bruised and broken body lying on the ground and slowly dying. He crouched down by her side and stroked her hair from her face gently, his hand almost going through her.

"Arturia," he said softly, "What forced this sort of death upon you?"

She opened her eyes slowly and looked up at him, smiling faintly. "The impetuous spirit," she said; her voice soft as she spoke. "I thought you said you would come back to the tree. I waited so many times for you to appear..."

He smiled faintly, though a bit strained. "I am dead, remember? I lose track of time easily in what you Christians call heaven."

"I can see you this time, spirit," she said. "I gave you my name long ago, but you never gave me your name. Would you give it to me now before I depart for heaven?"

"So you might see my wife and tell her of how I tormented you that one time?" He laughed, but his heart was not in it this moment.

"So, you have a wife and you flirt behind her back? You're worse than my nephew Gawain or my knight Lancelot." A look of pain shot across her features and she looked away from him. "Lancelot… he is one of the few of my knights living still. I can only hope my queen will be happy with him now as I was unable to make her as her king."

Cuchulainn gazed at her gently and continued to stroke her cheek absently, though he was certain she could no longer feel it or the chill of his ghostly fingers. "You married even though you are a woman to uphold your image as a man?" He shook his head and sighed. "You are very stubborn aren't you."

"You still have not given me your name, spirit," she said. She coughed and blood came up out of her mouth. She swallowed and leaned her head back against the trunk of the oak tree before she looked to Cuchulainn again with those clear blue-green eyes.

"Cuchulainn," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "My name is Cuchulainn."

"A heroic spirit is what greets me?" she said softly. She gazed at him hard for a moment before smiling with the faintest of smiles, but her whole face seemed to light up with it. It made her look like the woman he knew her to be instead of the king she seemed to feel she was. "I am honored to meet the heroic spirit Cuchulainn… and you are right. You are a handsome dog."

He watched as she reached a naked hand up to his face and felt the barest brush of her fingertips on his cheek. He had a strange feeling beginning to bud within him that he had only felt a few times before when he was alive and it began to pain him to see this bizarre woman who pretended to be a man die without having lived like women dreamed of living, without a family and passing her life on through her children. When Bedivere finally rode up to them both and dismounted, Cuchulainn could already feel the life starting to truly leave her body.

"My king. I have done as you asked. I am so sorry for not doing as you bid. Forgive me," he said quickly, kneeling before her and bowing his head to her. "Please."

"I forgive you, Bedivere," she said. "Thank you."

"My king, what more do you bid of me?" he asked.

"To take care of my kingdom—you and the other knights—take care of the kingdom as I would have done." She smiled faintly and relaxed a bit more. "I can only hope that someone better can rule this land than I."

Bedivere took her hand and spoke in heated tones as he trembled with the force of the tears flooding his blue eyes. "You were a great king, your highness. No matter what problem arose, you were always there and did your best." This man had clearly loved his king more than any other and now felt the passing of her far deeper than any other.

"He speaks sense, little king," said Cuchulainn softly. He watched her look up at him, however, instead of Bedivere and he smiled to her gently. "Go," he said. Then, her eyes closed slowly and she finally relaxed against the tree, a small smile still across her face though she was gone.

Bedivere and Cuchulainn stayed near her body, though Bedivere clearly couldn't see him. Cuchulainn knew she had moved on, but stayed close to see how Bedivere would treat her remains. After a while, the knight stood up and took her body with him, leaving the tree without a second glance. It was then and only then that he moved away from that tree and back to heaven where his dear Emer waited for him.


	2. Chapter Two

_**A/N: :D hope ya'll enjoy this. I've got a rough outline of what I want to do, but heh.. as always, it's a shot in the dark. And yeah, this is a part of the Alternate Realities group, which I completely forgot about putting at the top of it, because I'm a dumbass. **_

_Chapter Two_

There the tree stood among all the new growth. An old oak tree that in generations past had been a tree of great import; a king died underneath its branches. The greatest of kings. His funeral was a great one, but one celebrated only in legends. His reign had been a truly just one, but he was all too soon relegated to fairy tales and fables. How could humans forget something that had happened just a century or two past? Cuchulainn often wondered this and found himself constantly wondering if anyone would have celebrated dear "King Arthur" had they known she was really a woman who sacrificed much for her country.

Oh, Cuchulainn had heard much of her tales since her death. All the time he heard them from the people in the towns, children telling each other tales of knights in shining armor and maidens in distress, lovers comparing themselves to Lancelot and Gwenivere, he had heard them all. It pained him to no end to think that he had only known this great woman as her true self for one brief moment in her brief life. Much like him, she was a hero and celebrated as such through legend and myth, but she had not even truly touched the fruits of life like he had taken advantage of in his. It left a bitter taste in his mouth as he thought upon it under the old oak tree. Soon, all too soon, this tree would die and the sapling he watched grow would be the new oak tree that everyone would claim was the tree that King Arthur had died beneath.

And in heaven he could not find her spirit. He would often leave the warm embrace of his wife's arms to look for the poor young king. When he finally decided to ask a fellow spirit where he might find her, or if he had seen her, they would simply look at him quizzically and follow after a tall man of sorts who seemed to be ushering them to wherever they belonged. He could hardly ever find God, as well. Perhaps he was simply far too busy trying to keep order on his end to show up for formalities?

In the end, Cuchulainn gave up and finally started visiting the old tree once more. Its branches were twisted and ugly, its trunk was blackened in places and blown apart in others. The tree had been struck by lightning at some point, it seemed. Cuchulainn lay down on the grass under the tree and stared up at the green canopy over his head, remembering the days when he was alive and would lie down beneath a tree like this one in the afternoon sun. Those had been wonderful days, though sometimes they were hard to remember.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to a couple walking with a little girl beside them. Clearly she was their daughter and they were husband and wife. The girl, however, struck Cuchulainn deeply when he saw her face. It was Arturia's face, though much younger than he had seen it.

"Arturia, come along then. Don't dawdle," chided the mother. "And don't wander away! We need to stay on the path out of these old woods."

"Aye, they're teeming with spirits and fairies and little demons that'll come out and eat up a little girl like you!" said the father, grinning as Arturia giggled and held onto his hand. "That's a good girl."

"It's so hot today," said the mother. "We should get out of here quickly and find shade before we move on."

"We have shade now," said Arturia as she edged toward the oak tree Cuchulainn lay under. "See? There's a nice big tree there!"

"That's an old tree. A very old tree," commented her father as he stared up at it. He wasn't very tall and he had long brown curly hair on his head, though he was balding. His clothes were dirty and in need of repair. The wife and little Arturia were in the same state of dress. Clearly, these people were not very wealthy. "You know, Esther, perhaps little Arturia's right. Let's sit for a while."

Esther shot her husband a very nasty look. "Don't encourage her, James. We need to leave before bandits or worse comes blowing through here. I've heard that the great spirit of a hound appears around here and chases off people who he doesn't like."

"Nonsense, Esther. Let's get off our feet for a while. We could eat what we brought with us and it'll be better than forging ahead with nothing in our stomachs," said James.

Esther considered it a moment before they three sat where Cuchulainn had been, the latter having relocated up into the boughs of the old, gnarled tree. They pulled out simple food and ate slowly as the heat of the day was dispelled by the shade of the tree. Arturia, however, was constantly distracted by the tree. She kept looking up into the branches as though she saw something, which made her mother nervous. "Darling, please don't do that," she said.

"Mummy, there's a man up there," she said. "He's got blue hair and red eyes."

"James, we need to leave," said Esther.

Cuchulainn eyed Arturia and raised an eyebrow. Could she actually see him? Or did she remember seeing him before she died the last time. He moved down from the branches and crouched near Arturia, looking at her closely. "Can you see me?"

Arturia didn't look away from the branches. "He's up there," she said and then touched her shoulder. "And I'm hurt."

"What? Where did you hurt yourself, honey?" asked James.

"My shoulder hurts… so does my side," said Arturia. Esther looked her over and looked to James for confirmation that Arturia was perfectly fine before making her look away from the branches. "Ow!"

"That's for lying, Arturia, now stop pretending and eat your bread."

Cuchulainn smiled faintly as he watched them. No, Arturia couldn't see him, but she remembered quite clearly being skewered and bruised and seeing him when she was dying. At least it was nothing worse than that, otherwise he would actually be a bit worried.

"Too bad you can't even hear me," he said to her and ruffled her hair a bit. She blinked and looked around as he suddenly realized his folly.

"Something just touched my hair, mummy," she said. She looked straight at Cuchulainn as though she could see him and pointed toward him. "It was him!"

Esther blinked and looked to where her daughter pointed, but frowned when she saw nothing. Cuchulainn frowned and eyed Arturia. "Lass, if you're playing a game with me, then I suggest you stop it. Can you hear and see me?"

"I hear you," she said. "But… why can't I see you?"

James put a hand on Arturia's shoulder and shoved her down into a sitting position. "Sit down and please stop talking, Arturia."

"But the blue haired man is talking to me!" she said frantically. "Mr. Ghost! Are you still there?"

"How do you know it's me when you can't see me?" asked Cuchulainn with a frown.

"Because I remember you. Cu…Cullen?" She frowned deeply as she began to look a bit frustrated.

"This has gone on long enough, James. We need to stop her before someone passes through and thinks she's a witch or something!" said Esther, starting to become frantic.

Cuchulainn smirked faintly and leaned closer to Arturia's ear. "I've got a secret. Your parents can't hear me or see me because I don't want them to see me. If you're a good girl, you won't alert them to me and you won't get into trouble either. All right?" Arturia closed her mouth and nodded quickly. "Good," he said softly, "Then, when you're able to go alone I want you to visit this tree and I will come see you. All right?" He received an eager nod for that and sat back as she hurried gulped down her portion of the small meal packed and left with her parents.

When they walked away and finally disappeared out of the forest, Cuchulainn once more headed back to heaven. Clearly, Arturia was a prized spirit for she had almost immediately been sent back to Earth to be reborn, but why had she been born into a poor family? She was a leader, a natural one with a noble heart who sought only the best in the people around her. What use was a peasant life for such a woman?

* * *

Cuchulainn laid down beneath the branches of the oak tree and watched as squirrels passed by quickly through his ghostly legs. He had promised he would see Arturia again as he had promised to see her before. Perhaps she would not see him, but indeed she could at least speak with him and that was a welcome talent. She wasn't the same as before, but perhaps he could tell her the tales he had heard of her previous life to while away the time.

When he looked up expecting to see a little girl he found himself staring at a young woman instead, her hair pulled back in a braid and covered with a piece of cloth that he supposed had been white at one point in time. Arturia, however, held the same determined gaze that she had when he had first seen her; it was the look of a king.

"Hello," he said and sat up. "Please, sit beside me."

She coughed hard into a handkerchief and moved closer to the tree. "The priest said I'm sick because I come here and talk with the spirits. Is this true?"

"No," said Cuchulainn with a snort. "Sit, I'm not going to make you any sicker."

Arturia hesitated a moment and moved closer, sitting down next to him. "I can feel where you're sitting. It's cold there," she said.

"And you aren't afraid?"

"Should I be afraid of a soul?" she asked.

"No, you shouldn't. I'm not any different than you." He grinned and leaned back against the gnarled trunk of the tree. "How did you get sick?"

"I stayed out in these woods last week, hoping to see you again. You said I should come when I could travel alone and my father wanted me to go and try to attract a husband." She looked positively disgusted with this option before coughing hard into her handkerchief. "I don't want to look for a husband! Father keeps trying to make me marry these old men because they're rich, but I don't like them."

"Understandable," said Cuchulainn. "That cough sounds bad. You should see a healer about that."

"I've already been. I have been drinking that horrible tea mixture for a week already and I'm not getting any better." She coughed again and Cuchulainn could see a bit of blood coming up into the dirty cloth. She took it away and rubbed her face. She was sweating now and her face was pale from fear. "I'm dying, aren't I?"

"I can't answer that," he said softly. "All I can say is that this was the same place you died before… long ago in another life."

She turned sharply to look at him. "How do you know that?"

"Because I was there," he said, smiling faintly.

"The wounds in my shoulder and side?"

"Were from a battle on the hill. You bade your knight take your sword away to a lady on the lake and then died smiling up at me." He gazed at her a long moment and reached up to touch her cheek. "You need to go back before you get worse. I think coming out here makes it harder on you to get better."

"I don't care," she said in clear defiance. "I'm old enough to marry then I'm old enough to make some decisions on my own."

"You're a strip of a girl, little lioness," he said, chuckling, "but you're welcome to continue keeping me company for however long you feel you can stay."

She stood up and nodded to him, holding her head up high like the king he had seen in the past. "Then, let us meet again. Let us meet here so we may speak again about anything you want. I like talking to you." She smiled at him faintly, much like she had when she finally died. Cuchulainn's chest ached strangely before he nodded to her and realized she couldn't see him still.

"Aye, come and I'll see you," he said, grinning at her.

She smiled a bit more and then turned away, leaving him there to watch her walk back out of the forest toward the town he could faintly see in the distance. Perhaps the next time he saw her she would be well and married to a man, the way any girl would want to live.

* * *

It wasn't to be. He gazed down at her body and touched the cold skin of her cheek as her father, now much older with his hair growing white, dig a hole in the ground under the tree. A priest stood by and whispered over her clean white clad body as he made the sign of the cross over her. "May you rest in death the way you could not in life," he said softly.

Cuchulainn gazed at her and found his own heart drop away from his ghostly body. Once more he had come when she was either dead or dying. Mayhap he simply had a terrible sense of time?

"She died under this tree," said James softly. "She said she was going out to gather some wood for the cooking fire. She didn't return and… I assumed the worst. I went out looking for her and found her here under this tree, touching it with those little fingers of hers as though she had been speaking to it like an old friend."

"She had been touched with a sickness, friend," said the priest softly. "A sickness that couldn't be cured, but by the grace of God. In the end, I simply think it was her time to join Him in Heaven."

James gazed at his daughter's face as tears rolled over his thin cheeks. "My little girl," he said softly.

"Yes, and now she is with Esther and Jesus in Heaven. Let us pray for her soul to reach them and bury her. It will get dark soon and far worse than demons and spirits will come out here to rob us if we don't hurry us away," said the priest as he laid a steady hand on James' shoulder. James nodded and handed the priest a shovel before he leaned down and picked up Arturia's body and laid her there in the hole.

"No worries, men. That woman will come back again. I know it," said Cuchulainn as he watched. As they covered her with dirt he sang a lament for her, one full of the sorrow of her passing but the possible joy of seeing her once more. It seemed that the father and the priest could hear it as well, for they worked much faster than before, much easier.

"Let us away, my friend," said the priest as he looked up at the tree and touched its old gnarled trunk. "This tree is even weeping for her passing. Perhaps your Arturia had been its friend. Let us leave it to its grieving."

Cuchulainn would have laughed at the irony of a Christian priest claiming an old tree was weeping for the passing of a girl, but Cuchulainn knew too well that the tree was indeed sad she was gone again as was he. Instead, he stayed around until he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. There, he found the gentle face of his Emer gazing up at him and motioning for him to leave. Such a beautiful woman she was with her long dark hair and blue eyes, her slender form and graceful feminity that Cuchulainn could sometimes scarcely breathe around her.

"You've been coming here it seems," she said softly. "Perhaps you might tell me why one day."

"Perhaps," he said, smiling sadly at her. "But for now, I suppose we should head back where the dead belong."

"And perhaps you might be able to find the person you have witnessed the burial for," she said. She kissed him gently on his lips, lingering a moment before taking his hands and leaving with him through the veil between this world and the next.

"Indeed, perhaps I'll finally see her there," said Cuchulainn softly.


	3. Chapter Three

_**A/N: lalalala hope ya'll are enjoying this. For those who are on , please note that this is set in my own little world which I call Alternate Realities. Since Saber and Lancer are from Fate I stick it in the Fate section. 'kay?**_

_Chapter Three_

The halls of heaven stood like the great walls of a fairy palace, with gold light glittering from every surface and colors so brilliant that the greatest spring paled in comparison. It didn't look cloud covered or wispy like the priests and friars said it to be, but it was otherworldly and yet not. Wandering around you could get lost easily in it for it was like getting lost in the world, but it was the richest world you could ever have experienced.

Cuchulainn had been taken aback when he had found himself within the realm of Heaven. He had been ushered there by a faceless man wearing a gray cloak with his hood drawn up and watched as another was ushered away to a brilliant, fiery and yet extremely cold place. Fires everywhere, but one could tell you would never feel a single bit of its warmth. There, in the distance, he had seen a lone figure standing. The figure was of a man with long, shiny black hair and pale skin as though he had not seen the light of day in a very long time. He had bright red eyes and great horns protruding from the sides of his head like a bull and wore a long cloak of black. On his back were great black feathered wings that, when they spread out to stretch, made him look like the most beautiful and the most terrible of birds.

Cuchulainn had not been afraid when he had seen both the gray cloaked man and the black winged and horned man. He knew the gray cloaked, faceless man was an usher of the dead. As he knew the gray, faceless man was an usher, he, too, knew that the black winged and horned man was the overseer of a place away from the warmth of the good realm. He was the great overseer of those who were judged to be dishonest and untrue in their hearts.

And when he reached the realm of the good and true hearted souls? He was astounded by the beauty that lay before him. While the other realm was brilliant and beautiful for all its fire and dazzling light it had been cold and remote from the warmth of love. Upon laying his eyes on this "heaven" place he found he hardly cared anything more about being anywhere. He was home.

The overseer of this place was a faceless being like the usher of the dead. Cuchulainn had moved closer to him to get a better look and found that he somehow couldn't focus on his face. It was as though his face was not meant to be seen as anything distinctive. The light from him was blindingly bright, but after a while it did not hurt his eyes to gaze upon him. There were other men and women who were as brilliantly colored as the overseer and brilliantly lit as the overseer as well.

"Child," said a gentle man's voice from everywhere and nowhere, "You are home now."

And Cuchulainn did as he was bid without a second thought. He found a bit of land that resembled his favorite meadow at home and just laid there and listened to the birds and feel the breeze grace his cheeks. Soon, all too soon, Emer found him lying there and joined him. He had no need to eat or sleep, but they both enjoyed doing them still and so they did them.

As it turned out, however, to Cuchulainn's surprise, most of the souls that came into the realm soon moved on to be reborn into other lives. Some stayed around for a long time before going back to Earth to be human or animal, but not many stayed very long in the otherworld. It wasn't because God wanted them to stay away, but that they wanted to live life again and again. Cuchulainn had thought about returning the same way, but he found that Emer preferred to stay and, really, he had lived his life well enough already.

So, when Cuchulainn looked for Arturia in heaven he realized all too soon that he somehow kept losing her. In heaven time had no meaning, so clearly she might stay a while in this otherworld before returning. Surely, she would wish to see him or others she had known so long ago before returning to live life again, right?

"Oi," called Cuchulainn as he leaned on the doorway to a room he knew all too well. It was the chamber of the overseer, God, who sat in a comfortable chair and gazed out a very large window that looked over a vast garden that seemed to perpetually be in springtime.

"I've always found it amusing that you never talk to me in formal terms," said God. The laughter in his voice was very apparent though Cuchulainn could not see his face or a smile.

Cuchulainn grinned slightly and walked further into the chamber before putting his hands on his hips and looked out the window. "Why is it that everyone wants to live life again and again?" he asked, "Isn't it better to get done what you wanted to get done in life and just stay up here?"

"Humans aren't all as carefree and unrestrained as you are, Cuchulainn, most of them try their hardest to live the life given to them and hope that perhaps here they'll find a certain amount of peace. However, humans are a very violent people and need the stimulation of life's struggles to be able to recognize the true beauty in life." God's voice trailed off a little as her steepled his fingers and gazed out the window; the plush chair he sat in squeaking as he turned a bit in it. "I gave humans free will. What problems and wars and battles they have amongst themselves is a direct result of that free will. They blame it on my angel Lucifer or better yet blame me for their ills as a trial of faith, but it is only other humans that are the real reason they struggle. My sons and daughters hardly ever actually listen to me, though there are a few that truly pay attention."

Cuchulainn listened carefully as he rubbed his arm absently, gazing at God's general direction, though he couldn't actually look directly at him. "Sons and daughters?"

"Humans are my children, Cuchulainn, just like you are half. There are other gods and they have either left entirely from this world or they have gone to sleep, but I am the creator of their worshippers." There was a pause and then God turned toward him and Cuchulainn got the impression that the being before him was grinning a rather mischievous grin. "After all, I made them as well."

"You made the gods?" asked Cuchulainn, raising an eyebrow. "Like my father Lugh?"

"Mmmm, in a sense, yes I suppose." God turned away a little before looking out. "Life is a precious thing, Cuchulainn. Your father knew that and oversaw it all as well as he could."

Cuchulainn looked around the room, deep in thought as to what I had wanted to ask. The room itself was relatively small in comparison to everything else. It was very cozy, though, for all it's small dimensions. The walls were draped in red and gold tapestries, the carpet on the floor was richly colored and the desk before him that God sat behind looked as though it were made from solid oak. Even the chair that God sat in was a rich red color with gold trimmings. "I take it you like red and gold," asked Cuchulainn, smirking faintly at it all.

"Yes, I do a bit. It changes depending on my mood, really. Sometimes I want yellow and black, other time blue and gold, but most times I prefer my warm red and gold color scheme. Easy to set up if you have the right desktop settings."

Cuchulainn blinked at God for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "Desktop settings?"

"Eh, creator humor showing. Don't pay it any mind," said God as he waved a dismissive hand toward Cuchulainn. He finally stopped twisting his chair back and forth and turned it all the way to look at Cuchulainn in the face, though his own continued to elude Cuchulainn's gaze; clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him as he leaned forward a bit to talk to Cuchulainn. "You came here for a reason and you've yet to say anything. I'm surprised at you, Cuchulainn. Typically you barge in without a word and then start blasting questions away at me." **Now** Cuchulainn **knew** that this "_ultimate creator_" was an outright cheeky devil at times.

Cuchulainn looked around and suddenly realized there was a seat ready for him across the desk from God, but couldn't recall it being there before when he had entered. He sat down and continued to eye God warily before he finally opened his mouth to answer, however, God spoke before he could say anything. "I'll have you know that I have no control over how the you children come and go except in keeping you lot from all leaving to Earth as ghosts and possibly creating a mess of things. You have special permission because the alternative is, quite frankly, very irritating. You're very annoying when you get bored, did you know that?"

"Are you talking about the time I decided hitting on that Briton lass was a good idea? I'll have you know that she got her own out on my hide before that was over with. What was her name?"

"Boudica."

"Ah, yeah, that would be her." Cuchulainn gave him his most charming, cheeky grin, but it faded after a while when God didn't say anything and seemed to be most annoyed with him at that moment. "Where is she at now?"

"She's watching over her children and those who survived. She only kept as many as she could afford to lose with her on the island and sent the rest as far away as they could possibly go where they might be safe before facing those Romans." God sighed and rubbed that never focused face of his. "Those Italians really make me very cross with them at times." When he seemed to be looking at Cuchulainn again he spoke softly. "She has chosen to remain here so she might continue to see the progress of her people."

Cuchulainn nodded and leaned back in the chair he sat in and thought for a moment. Perhaps Arturia simply stayed away from him because she forgot about him in this realm of ultimate peace?

"You can't see her," said God.

Cuchulainn blinked for a moment in surprise and then stared hard at God, straightening up in his chair to eye him. "What?"

"She's already gone back to Earth to be reborn. You won't find her here," said God.

"I didn't even say anything!"

"Is there any part of my being 'all seeing' and 'all knowing' that you didn't quite understand in the original briefing?"

Cuchulainn frowned and grunted in his irritation before he stood up. "Then, why did you not just say something when I came in?"

"Because I like talking to my children. Is that so wrong?" God gazed at him for a long moment before nodding to him to sit down again and leaned back in his plush, red and gold chair. Cuchulainn didn't follow his direction.

"Why has she gone back to Earth? Why did she not seek me out?" asked Cuchulainn.

"That is for her to answer, not I," said God.

"Tch! You just told me that you were all seeing and all knowing! You should know her reasons if it's a case of her own reasons!" Cuchulainn was growing more and more impatient with this being before him. What was worse was that the being knew that fact already and still he remained ever calm. He never said a word in argument, but continued to gaze at him placidly until Cuchulainn threw his hands up in his frustration.

"Why do you want to see her so badly, Cuchulainn?" asked God before Cuchulainn could leave.

"You're the all seeing God. You answer that for yourself," Cuchulainn said and then snorted derisively at him before turning to leave once more.

"I could, you know… answer it for myself, that is. However, I think even you don't really recognize the reason yet," said God softly. "No, I really don't think you recognize it in yourself just yet your own reasons."

"She's a friend. I enjoy her company. That is all."

"Is she? You've only spoken with her a few times. Why is she suddenly one of the things that so fuels your frustration with me for letting her go off without so much as a word?" said God, his voice almost soothing to Cuchulainn, though Cuchulainn shrugged off the attempt to calm him down. In the end, Cuchulainn gave God a rather rude gesture and walked out of the strange room and out to find Emer.

It was then that he saw a bit of gold hair pulled back into a braided circle at the back of her head and a blue and gold dress that was clearly royal in appearance. He immediately gravitated toward the woman, but she soon disappeared quickly without even looking his way. He picked his way through the people around him, but he found that he could not find her again. He hurried through, but, in the end, he found that she had truly disappeared from his sight altogether.

He stopped and turned when he felt Emer's hand on his arm. She kissed his shoulder and leaned against him as he continued to stare into the crowd, almost unaware that she was there. "Come away, Cuchulainn," she whispered to him. "Come away from the new comers."

Cuchulainn nodded absently and followed wherever Emer took him, half way out of his mind now as he thought deeply on who he had seen in the new comer throng. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light or just his imagination that he had seen Arturia standing in queenly garb and looking around for him. Perhaps, when he went back down again, he might find her in far better circumstances than he had before.

Perhaps she might live to love a man this time.


	4. Chapter Four

_**A/N: well, I got a new book and it's very interesting and entertaining. It's called America Alone by Mark Steyn.**_

_**Anyway, onto the chapter!**_

_**And for those who are curious, which you no doubt don't really give a shit, but I don't care… I have only the vaguest idea of what I want and am working my way around the problem of exactly how to word things and place events.**_

_**Just like everything else I write. :D**_

_Chapter Four_

The tree grew older still while the world grew around her. The people made new discoveries and the people grew wiser, but all the same they were the same children she had seen for most of her life. Birds nested in her twisting branches and squirrels climbed her gnarled trunk. Once, long ago, she had been a beautiful tree, but now she was twisted like the old woman she was. Still, for all her gnarled and twisted frame, life still bloomed from within her and that made her the most beautiful tree in the entire forest; for all her age she was the most radiant among them all.

The tree could recall many visitors for all her years. One stood out among them all, however. She recalled a spirit of an ancient hero to the people of Ireland who would lie in her twisted branches like a wild cat or relax against her trunk in the afternoon sun. She could remember a time when her mother oak tree had been old and she just a sapling making her way up out of the ground and there she would see the spirit resting against her mother's trunk.

He was certainly a handsome spirit, though, for a human. His face was far more fair than any she had seen since, his features strong and fine and his eyes demonic, but gentle for all their appearance. His hair was the fairest shade of blue and shimmered in the gold light of the sun as it filtered through her leaves. She could imagine him being alive once again and those fair features and that charming smile of his would be gentle as he slept beneath her branches and dreamed of great battles to be won and maidens to bed.

And there was one other that always caught her eye since she was much younger. The young king who took refuge under her much smaller branches in the afternoon shade and the spirit that had seemed to instantly take a liking to the young king. The face was ingrained in her long memory and she could never forget it for all her long life. The girl that came back to her side time and again as she looked desperately for the ancient warrior spirit and had finally died from the sickness in her lungs still could be felt in her old bark. The tree never forgot her.

Once more she saw the face of the young king on that of a little girl from a modestly wealthy family as she played around her trunk. Her sister sulked off to the side and seemed content to just glare at the young king as the girl picked up a stick and pretended to be fighting with a sword. The young king was as fair haired as she was in all her other lives while the older girl was dark haired and dark eyed and very beautiful in all her dark beauty.

"Why do you persist in playing like a boy?" asked the older girl. The girl's voice was snotty for all it's culturing. "You make me ashamed to have you as my sister. It's like I have a brother instead wearing a girl's clothes!"

The younger girl stopped her playing and looked to her older sister in surprise. "But, I want to be a knight. Like daddy said our grandpa was!"

"Knights are soldiers and soldiers are boys, Arturia," said the older girl. That's right, the young king's name had been Arturia and the girl who died at her trunk was named Arturia as well. "Boys are supposed to rescue and seek the favors of girls, not fight alongside them."

Arturia pouted slightly and then looked up at the tree, smiling. "I don't care, because I don't want to be like every other girl, Morgan." The tree waved her branches gently and made her leaves rustle for Arutira who continued to gaze up into her branches as though expecting to find someone up there.

"You're hopeless!" Morgan then looked up into the tree and frowned more. "You always look up into the tree like you can see something up there."

"I see birds and squirrels," said Arturia.

"Right." Morgan clearly wasn't convinced. Indeed, she seemed as though she was wondering if her sister was insane or not.

"Also… Morgan?"

"Yes?" Morgan gave an exasperated sigh at Arturia starting up one of her famous question sessions. "What is it you want to know now, Arturia?"

"Do you not feel as though someone special is supposed to be watching from that top branch there?"

For once Morgan stared at her fair haired sister as though she were truly mad. "No… and neither should you."

"Why?" asked Arturia as she looked to her sister's dark eyes, "Why shouldn't I?"

Morgan seemed to give it some thought as to what she would say next before she lifted her head up to the sound of a man calling their named. Clearly he was either their brother or he was their father for he looked a great deal like Arturia and Morgan had his cheeks and nose. "Ask brother if you're as nosey as that, then! Coming!" Then, she gathered herself up from one of the tree's roots sticking up through the ground and ran off.

Arturia looked up into the tree's branches once more, searching for a hint of the spirit that had somehow managed to make her remember his promise of returning to the tree to see her even though she wasn't the same young king as she had been before. Like every time the girl came out to visit her, she could not find the spirit or his cheeky tone anywhere among her leaves and left looking saddened that she could not find confirmation for her feelings. The tree rustled her leaves a little to give comfort, but, like all humans, the poor girl didn't understand what it was for or that the tree was trying to talk to her. In the end the girl simply left looking a bit downtrodden.

It was times like these that the tree began to wonder if the spirit would show at all. She knew he would eventually appear, but this time had gone on far longer than ever before. Perhaps he was being delayed in the hereafter or perhaps he could not tell time any longer now that he was in another plane of existence. Whatever the reason the tree was certain that if she could manage it she would send him a right smack in the face with one of her long, twisted branches for his tardiness.

Time and again Arturia would come out to visit the tree and play around her trunk. She soon grew into a young woman and found that the young men would come around the old oak tree to speak with her. As usual Arturia would simply ignore them as they attempted to gain her favor. This infuriated Morgan whenever she found out and was wont to come around to kick the old tree's trunk.

"What is it about you that takes her attention from being an actual girl, huh? I hate you! I wish I had a normal sister that actually cared about the boys I want to talk about instead of reading those stupid books and sitting under an old tree that does nothing but look old and ugly!" she shrieked. For all her fine, dark beauty she could be compared to a banshee when she grew angry enough. It was a wonder that the two girls were related at all!

It was then and only then that the girl gave a sharp shriek as her skirt flipped up over her head and forced her to stagger around covering her rear from whatever attack she had coming to her. None came, but it was no less amusing to watch. When none came the girl pulled her skirt down from her head and looked at the tree with a modicum of fear in her dark eyes before she scampered away quickly. The tree waved her branches with a groan of her old limbs in greeting to the spirit as he chuckled and put his hands on his hips. For the first time in a long time she realized that he even wore a sort of kilt of Ulster colors and a fine shirt underneath. Even his shoes were finely crafted, though even if he were naked he would still be deemed fine and very fair.

"That girl was a right brat if I never saw one before," said Cuchulainn, grinning toward the tree. "Kicking a tree out of frustration… what, she thinks you'll hit back or something? As old as you are, that would be impossible to accomplish."

The tree waved her branches with a groan once more and made her leaves rustle slightly as she tried to explain things to the spirit Cuchulainn, though she doubted he would be able to understand. After a while she gave up on the whole endeavor and just enjoyed his company once more. He would explain himself eventually.

And, indeed, she didn't have long to wait. He hopped up onto her branches and lay down quickly like some great big wild cat before he spoke again to her. "I keep missing her," he said softly. "It's as though, when she finally makes it up there, that she doesn't want to see me. I'm not that hard to deal with, am I?" He chuckled to himself for a moment before going silent again and gazing up at the branches above him.

For a long moment he did not speak and, indeed, he seemed as though he was uncertain of what he wanted to say. Then, he spoke in the smallest of voices that the oak had ever heard from him before. "I love my wife more than anything in the world, you know. I've loved her since the first moment I laid eyes on her." He sat up and ruffled his hair as he swung his legs over the branch and dangled them. "Heh, I've been a terrible husband to her I suppose, at least by these Christian standards. I know her ol' dad would love to have my balls as a trophy had he known I went off and left his daughter alone while I enjoyed the ladies I came across elsewhere. But, there's no chance of that happening is there?"

The tree just listened and let him talk, having given up on trying to speak to him in her own tree language. He seemed both genuinely remorseful about the past with his wife and also genuinely happy he had the fun he had when he was alive. Humans were good at having conflicting feelings at the drop of a leaf.

"Nay, I lived the way I wanted," he said after a long silence, "I fought how I wanted to fight, I took most of the battles I wanted for myself, minus a few, and I loved with everything I had to love with." He grinned slightly, almost wistfully, and then closed his eyes as he hugged a knee to his no doubt well muscled chest and rested his chin on the top of his knee for a moment before he spoke again. "There's no need for me to come back to this world as a human being again."

"Then, why are you talking as though you wish you could?"

Cuchulainn recognized that stiff, somewhat strict tone immediately and grinned broadly before he opened his red eyes to look down at the new body of Arturia Pendragon, albeit wearing the frilly clothing of a woman than the tunic and trousers of a man. The gown was short-waisted and made her look as though she actually had a somewhat larger chest than he had noted on her those lifetimes ago. He might have chuckled a bit at her if he wasn't struck by the fact that she was actually quite pretty in these clothes, albeit they looked far too cumbersome to him to be of any use or, in his mind, hard to take off easily. Her hair was once again pulled up in a braided circle at the back of head and her gown was of pale blue. And those eyes of her, forever ingrained in his memory, were looking up at him as though she could see him.

"Can you see me or are you just hitting off of where my voice is coming from?" he asked, smirking faintly at her before hopping off the branch.

"I can hear you loud and clear thank you. I doubt I would need to see you to converse with you properly." Once again Cuchulainn could see the young king inside the girl before him, this time much more clearly than before.

"Well," he said as he walked closer, "you never know. I might be more interesting to gaze upon than to simply speak to."

"And I had hoped you were above such petty details as appearance," said Arturia, looking somewhat exasperated already before she sat down under the tree and pulled up a book into her lap.

A slow, sly smile spread across Cuchulainn's face as he let her statement sink in. "So, you've been thinking of me, have you?"

"I have had the continuous feeling that there was a spirit of some sort watching me from the tree tops and now I have had it confirmed," said Arturia, not even looking up in his general direction.

Cuchulainn eyed her carefully and opened his mouth to say something else when a young man jogged closer toward her and stopped in mid-run to look at her before calling her name. "Arturia!" he cried as he ran closer. He was a somewhat odd looking fellow with reddish-brown hair that was cropped short to his head and covered with a hat that looked as though it were a little too big for him.

Arturia looked up and immediately looked as though she wished she could be elsewhere right then and there. "Bowen Archer," she muttered. "Hello, Bowen," she said a bit louder and attempted to smile at him. Cuchulainn raised an eyebrow and eyed the boy and then eyed Arturia. Clearly, this boy was a suitor that Arturia didn't favor or he was a rather irritating friend that she didn't feel like dealing with at that particular moment. Either way, he was getting closer and Arturia was stiffer now than he had seen her previously.

Bowen got closer and Cuchulainn could see why he looked so truly odd to him. Somewhere back in Bowen's history he had to have had at least one relative who was not from anywhere near England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, or, indeed, anywhere near Europe. His cheekbones were high and his eyes still retained a little of the slanted look of an Asian, but they were big like any white man's. Being dead and being able to leave as he wished had the added privilege that he could see other peoples besides his own, but, of course, he loved being under this large oak and her family in particular so he hardly ever ventured away from it. Surely this boy was not naturally born into the rather typically English surnamed family he found himself attached to. Cuchulainn couldn't quite imagine what sort of man would allow himself to bring in a child who so obviously looked very different than the rest of his countrymen unless he was profoundly charitable and took the boy in as his own long ago.

Bowen grinned good-naturedly toward Arturia and took off his hand with a sweep of his hand to bow down to Arturia like some knight to a noble woman long ago. Arturia eyed him for a moment and sighed, smiling faintly toward the young man. "Hello, Bowen. What brings you out here to this old forest?"

"I could ask the same of you," said Bowen as he looked around.

"I asked first, thank you."

Bowen looked to Arturia and smiled weakly before nodding and attempting to get what composure he had left to him back. Clearly he fancied Arturia and looked as though he were having a little trouble trying to voice it with his constant fidgeting. "Actually, I have something important to ask you and I hope that you will give it good consideration. I have spoken with your father and, while he doesn't wholly approve of me for my appearance, I am still an Englishman at heart and will always remain so."

"Out with it, Bowen," said Arturia.

"Well, my father is a good merchant and I've learned his trade very well and I am not without money." When Arturia's look became a sort of glare he gulped and knelt down quickly and offered a hand toward her. "Will you be my wife, Arturia?"

Arturia stared at him for a while and retracted from him somewhat, looking back to her book. "Please leave me alone, Bowen."

Bowen Archer looked up immediately at this and his face slackened to a rather saddened look. He smiled quickly and pulled out a ring for Arturia. "Please, Arturia," he said, "I beg of you to reconsider."

"I'll not marry anyone." It wasn't anything that should be argued, it was a concrete statement of intent that almost felt as though she just slapped him with a rock. "Now please leave me alone, Bowen."

He stood up and seemed as though he were going to leave when Cuchulainn noticed he was standing stock still and clenching his fists tightly at his sides. "Is it because I am not wholly English?"

Arturia looked up at him finally and then looked away quickly. "No, Bowen, it is not that."

"Why, then?"

Arturia looked genuinely lost and looked toward the place she had last heard Cuchulainn speak to her from for some sort of support before she realized that Cuchulainn probably had either moved or was just going to sit back and let things play out. "Be… because I," Arturia stammered and then took a deep breath to steady herself, "I don't really have any reason to give other than… I just don't want to… not yet."

Bowen moved closer in a move that Cuchulainn knew all too well. He was clearly quite fast and agile, forcing a small appreciative smirk out of Cuchulainn as he watched the boy scoop Arturia up into his arms partially and hold her close. Arturia, for all her stiffness stared up toward Cuchulainn in surprise as she suddenly found herself partially pulled up off the ground and held against the boy in a steadfast grip. "Then, permit me to please court you further and so you might see how much you fill my every day, Arturia."

Arturia let go of the book and put her arms on his shoulders as she relaxed somewhat in his clearly rather strong hold on her. He moved his face away from her neck to gaze at her with gentle hazel eyes. "Bowen," she said softly, not entirely certain what she wanted to say next. Bowen moved close again and kissed her gently. Cuchulainn smiled a bit more and chuckled before hopping up into the tree again and patting the oak's old bark with a hand.

"It seems the lad has things well in hand," he said to the oak. The tree rustled her leaves in acknowledgment, but realized that wouldn't be very well understood.

They kissed under the tree as in the days of the oak's mother before Bowen moved way reluctantly and kissed Arturia's hand. Then, he turned and left her there, her cheeks flushed and her hand over her heart as she watched him leave. Cuchulainn chuckled even harder. He couldn't help it, really. He recognized the movements and the words all too well and it amused him to no end to see them come about once more so long after his own days.

"What's so funny," snapped Arturia.

"You… and him," he said loftily. "I recall the same things from when I was a young man."

"Who are you exactly?" she said. "You're not English and you speak as though you're much older than a few decades old."

"Aye, I am," said Cuchulainn as he hopped back down off the branch and crouched near Arturia. "And I should remember my days when I was a young man because I died while I was still rather young."

"Why do you come here then? What is your name? Why is it I have always been expecting to see you here?"

Cuchulainn laughed at Arturia as she kept firing off more questions one right after the other before he leaned closer to her ear and whispered in a tone that sent shivers up her spine that were not unpleasant at all. "Because I promised you long ago that I would visit you here back when you were the king of all Briton."

Arturia turned her face toward his voice and looked up at him, though he knew she couldn't see him. "I was a king once?"

"Aye, though you were a woman pretending to be a man, you were indeed a king of the land and, as I hear it, you were the greatest one of all," he said, gazing down into her blue-green eyes. He could feel a part of him blooming to life suddenly as he gazed down at her and found himself feeling much like the boy must have when he was gazing at her. "You were also a peasant girl who died waiting for me under this tree."

Arturia looked up at him, searching for his face in the air in front of her before she reached up and touched the place she supposed his cheek must have been. Indeed, she felt a cold chill run through her fingers as she felt a sort of presence at her fingertips. Cuchulainn could feel her fingers as well and leaned more into her hand, closing his eyes for a moment as he did so. "I wish I could see you. Just once. Just once I wish I could see who it is that I keep waiting for under this tree."

Cuchulainn smiled against her hand and turned toward her, gazing at her through his lashes. "You've seen me once before, lass. Just once, though," he said softly and leaned closer to her, "You were dying at the time, however."

"Do I need to be dead to see you then?"

"Nay, I don't think so, but I don't know the rules." It wasn't wholly true, but he also didn't want to voice his suspicions either. He had a theory working as to why it was she couldn't see him until that moment when she was about to die from her battle wounds.

"And old spirit… who still hasn't given me his name." Cuchulainn chuckled at this and she smiled a bit at him for it before continuing, "Although, I've found I don't need to ask. A name has cropped up in my mind, though I hardly know why."

"Cuchulainn," he said.

"Yes, that's the name." She smiled faintly. "A great Irish hero, though few know of him outside of his native people."

"Aye, but you do. You do because you remember me, even if just a little bit." He grinned for a moment and wondered for the first time in a long time what it would be like to be reborn constantly like Arturia was. He leaned closer still and swore he could almost feel her breath as he neared her mouth. "It's because your soul is what is seeking me, little king," he said in almost a whisper, "and I hope it continues to do so."

He closed the very little distance between then and kissed her, though he knew she could probably not wholly feel it. Indeed, he could barely feel the merest brush of her lips against his and desperately wished for more as he leaned closer against her and wrapped his arms around her to hold her closer against him. When he moved his lips away from hers he saw that she looked as desperate for the feeling that she couldn't get from him as he was to receive it from her. It was the saddest thing to him in that moment that he was dead and she was alive.

"Live your life, Arturia," he said after a long, silent moment. "Live your life and marry and have children and all the things you keep missing when you wait for me. Don't constantly hope for my return because even I don't know when I'll show up." Then, he kissed her again and moved away from her. "But… do me a favor," he said softly as he leaned close to her ear, "Please remember me."

Then, the oak watched as he faded away on the breeze that went through her leaves. Arturia sat in the grass and touched her lips, recounting the events that had just occurred to her. The oak watched her as silent as ever as she stood on shaky feet and patted down her gown before picking up her book and looking up into the oak's twisted branches.

"I'll marry Bowen Archer," she said to the tree, "And I'll have children." Then, she looked away and touched her lips again and closed her eyes as she did so. "But I'll remember, heroic spirit," then, she added in a small, breathy voice, "Though I don't think I could ever forget now." Then, the oak watched as she made her way out of the forest, away from the old oak, and away to her father's home not far off.

The oak's upper limbs waved slightly in the breeze, making her old bark groan a little. It was like a bard's tale what seemed to continuously unfold in front of her and soon she would die and one of her children would take up the chore of being the watcher of this little play. In the end, she knew that it would continue for a very long time, long after she had rotted away or became the strong door of a stronghold. Until then, she would watch over the young king and the heroic spirit.


	5. Chapter Five

_**A.N: lalalala… yeah, I don't typically get comments on my written stuff, so I'm accustomed to churning out stuff for the audience with little to no feedback. I get plenty on my comics, though.**_

_Chapter Five_

Time had no meaning in heaven and that was part of Cuchulainn's biggest problem. However, it was also a blessing, for, if he knew how much time passed and how fast or slow it went, he would be driven mad by the passing of it. So, when he made his way through heaven to find Emer his mind decided against trying to remember how long it had been since he last visited that old oak and enjoy his wife as he should. Indeed, very few women could compare to Emer in beauty and cleverness and every day he and she would enjoy just being in each other's company like old friends.

Everywhere he looked he could find others he didn't recognize and others he could recognize from his own home in Ulster. He found one of his foster fathers, Fergus MacRoich, flirting with a few women as he was wont to do, but he also found a woman who so resembled Arturia that it was frightening to look upon her. She was young, very young, her blonde hair cut short like a boy, but she was indeed a young woman. Her eyes, however, betrayed the battle hardened core of her. She was a soldier inside. He knew the look well and had seen it not only in his own eyes, but those of Arturia as well. There was an almost ethereal glow to her, though he knew she was no angel. She was a human soul, but clearly she was a very faithful soul.

Cuchulainn couldn't resist. He moved closer toward the young woman and bowed to her with a bit of a flourish. "Hello there, fair maiden! I am Cuchulainn, hero of Ulster!"

The girl eyed him with in disgust and moved away from him slightly as though he were going to sully her. Looking at her, he realized she even wore the same clothing as a man; a single cross on a chain around her neck was her only decoration. There was something incredibly familiar about her and he couldn't place her for the life of him. Never deterred by a woman spurning him, he continued smiling at her pleasantly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You're not a very friendly sort, are you? I gave my name; it's your turn to return the gesture. You know, 'I'm Seamus' and 'Oh! I'm Willy' and that sort of thing?"

"Jeanne," she said in a somewhat gruff tone. So, the girl was French.

"Jeanne? That's a pretty name," he said, still attempting to keep his pleasant attitude up, "Well, it is very nice to meet you, Miss Jeanne."

"Why are you talking to me?" she said, still glaring at him with those hard blue eyes of hers.

"Because you remind me of someone even in your hostility to me," he said, grinning at her, "Also, because you were over here and I've never seen you before. Is that so wrong?"

She flushed faintly and looked away. "I am sorry. I apologize for my behavior," she said. She had a rather thick French accent to her voice, but it wasn't unpleasant. He'd heard worse accents from his Scottish teacher Sgatha.

He smiled faintly and leaned down a bit to look her in the eye. She was fairly short, but not overly so. She certainly wasn't nearly as small as Arturia. "You're somehow familiar to me and I can't quite put my finger on it. You're awfully young to be up here in wherever when, aren't you? A female wearing men's clothing at that."

She looked off into the impossibly colorful garden before her, seemingly thinking about what she should say next before Cuchulainn noticed that the entire area around them changed to that of an old Roman ruin and one stone cross stood not far off. "I fought against the English to help the men of France drive them out as per God's will. He bade me to free France from the oppression of the English." She stopped and gripped the cross on her chest with one hand before she continued in a somewhat shaky tone. "The English got a hold of me and the dauphin wouldn't retrieve me from them. The English called me a heretic and held me prisoner. They charged me with the crime of wearing men's clothing and posing as a man for so long," she said softly, a wry smile crossing her fair features after a moment, "They tried to make me say that I heard the devil speaking to me and not God, but I know what I saw and what I heard and I would have none of their lies."

Cuchulainn eyed her and thought to say something when she spoke once more. "I was burned at the stake for being a heretic." She twitched slightly and rubbed her arms a bit as she moved away from him slightly, keeping her gaze averted from him. "I can still feel the fire sometimes, though I am in a place of peace."

That made some sense at least. It was probably a good thing Arturia wasn't there, however. Cuchulainn was certain that she would be saddened by what Jeanne was saying about her countrymen and the kings who ruled them now. "I know of one English king that you would like," he said.

"The English have no kings that I would like. They are cruel, but they will soon find their judgment in His eyes when they come up here," she said in a hard voice.

"Ah, but this one you would like. She's a bit like you, you know," he said, grinning at her as he leaned on the stone cross. Jeanne eyed him warily before slapping his shoulder sharply and shooing him off the cross like a mother shooing off a naughty child from some family heirloom. Cuchulainn laughed lightly as he moved away from the cross, which earned him a reproachful glare from Jeanne.

"Don't lean on the cross!" she said. "It's disrespectful!"

Cuchulainn laughed again and shook his head. "I don't rightly care much about this symbol or any other. It holds no meaning to me."

"You are not a Christian?" She didn't look very surprised, but she did have a rather inquisitive look to her. "A pagan?"

"Eh, you could say that I suppose," he said, grinning even more at her.

"Why is a pagan in God's realm?" she asked.

"You do like asking a lot of questions don't you?"

"You were the one who began talking to me, not the other way around," she said stiffly. "If you do not wish to answer then go ahead and leave me be."

"You certain you aren't the twin sister of this little king I know? I swear you look almost exactly like her, give or take a few bits of your appearances, and you certainly act a lot like her." When Jeanne didn't respond Cuchulainn blew through his lips in irritation and rolled his eyes. "All right. Fine. I'll answer your fucking questions, though I can't guarantee any good answers."

"Don't use such foul language in God's realm," said Jeanne, once again resembling a stern mother.

"I'm sure that isn't the first time you've heard the word 'fuck' or any derivative thereof, lass," he said, now getting a bit irritated with her.

"No," she admitted after a moment, "But this is not the world of the living, this is God's realm and I'll not permit such language here no less."

"Fine," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Why is a pagan in heaven?"

Cuchulainn thought about God's answers to him and shrugged. "God said he created everything so, therefore, we are all his children. You are. I am. I wouldn't know since I only know of my own father who was a sort of god himself."

"You are the son of a false god?"

"No, just the son of a different one… though not so different, since God said he even created the other gods." Jeanne had a very strange look on her face until she got a good look at his eyes and moved away from him a bit. "Ah, yes, so you finally noticed my eyes, then, eh? Yeah, that parts from him," he said, smirking toward her rather impishly.

The Roman ruin before them suddenly became more like a dense forest instead of an ancient clearing. He glanced around and found the place looked similar to the one with the old oak tree he enjoyed visiting. Jeanne, however, suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. "This is not the old ruins in Doremy," she said.

"You two certainly know how to make a royal racket," said a voice up in one of the trees. It was a man wearing older English attire, he could not tell how old, but it was older than Jeanne's clothing by its appearance. He wore a long, dirty scarf that at one time might have been green around his neck that concealed part of his face, his shirt sleeves pulled back to his elbows where archer gloves were strapped to his forearms. He had a wide brimmed hat that had a multitude of feathers sticking out of the band around it, one of which looked like it had belonged to a pheasant and soft leather boots strapped to his legs and feet. From what little could be seen of him, Cuchulainn was able to pick out that the man had very dark, almost black wavy hair and bright emerald green eyes.

Jeanne looked less than pleased to be near another man who spoke English. "I'm surrounded," she muttered.

"_Je pourrais parler français si ce c'est ce que vous voulez_," said the man in the tree. When he saw Cuchulainn's face he added, "I said 'I could speak French if that is what you want', by the way."

Cuchulainn rolled his eyes and looked to the astonished face of Jeanne. At least she was somewhat impressed. "I am Cuchullainn and this is—"

"I know who you both are. It's sort of hard not to hear you both when you're both so very loud," said the green eyed man, though he mainly eyed Jeanne. "But I think I might prefer her company to yours. I always did enjoy a pretty face, even if she's French."

"You have a problem with the French and yet you can speak the language well enough?" asked Jeanne.

"Yes, well, you don't get very far with outlaws and transients when you can only speak one language," said the green eyed man.

"And what is your name, stranger," said Cuchulainn, eyeing the man for a moment. "You know ours, clearly, and who we are, but who are you?"

"Yes, I know."

"Be fair in God's realm. You are here therefore you must be a good man," said Jeanne. She gazed directly at him and looked a bit like she was about to head into battle or something before the man rolled his eyes and jumped down from the tree and leaned against its massive trunk. Now that Cuchulainn could see him fully he noticed that the man's entire attire was dirty and faded. His tunic might have been a fine green at one time with some gold embroidery, but now it was dirty, faded with age and torn in several areas. His shirt was just as dusty and grungy, though it might have been wholly white and expensive at one point in time. In fact, practically everything he wore looked as though it might have at one point in time been a beautifully made and expensive garment, but now everything on him was torn, dirty, faded or any combination thereof.

The man regarded Jeanne for a moment, wholly ignoring Cuchulainn at this point and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he lifted his head a bit from his long scarf, which had been partially obscuring his face. He sported a well groomed and trimmed goatee of black hair that matched his dark hair and his skin was somewhat darker than Jeanne. "All right," he said as he continued to regard her with those bright green eyes of his, "My name is Robert."

"Well, see? That wasn't so hard," said Cuchulainn, "See, if you answered us before instead of making us wait then we wouldn't find you so damned suspicious."

Robert snorted and shook his head slowly. "You have no idea, hound." He looked to Cuchulainn and smirked faintly at him as he moved his hat up just a bit from his head. "I am an outlaw. I have been for a very long time and my old habits die hard, I suppose."

"What is an outlaw doing in God's realm?" asked Jeanne, looking on guard now. Indeed, if she had a sword on her she would probably have had her hand on its hilt. "What madness is this?"

"Madness, you say," muttered Robert before he rolled his eyes and looked toward her. "Yes, I suppose it would be mad that an old bandit like me would end up in Heaven, given that I'm a thief."

"A thief should never set foot here," said Jeanne quickly.

Robert seemed genuinely amused by Jeanne and, indeed, smiled at her in a most charming way that Cuchulainn recognized in himself. Cuchulainn found the whole thing rather funny, though Jeanne seemed very interested in gutting Robert. Cuchulainn had no idea who this thief was, but one thing was very clear to him: Robert had not always been a thief nor had he been poor. The clothing he wore, while worn and faded and dirty, had at one time been richly colored and decorated clothing and no poor man could afford such finery even if he was a great thief. No thief would dare wear such fine clothing in case he should be caught easily, as well.

"You seem to enjoy staring at me, friend. Care to divulge your thoughts to me or will you just entertain yourself there like a good dog."

Cuchulainn glared at Robert and snorted. "You've got some nerve," he said gruffly to Robert. Robert rewarded him with a devious smirk.

"You have a quick temper it seems," said Robert. "Just like an Irishman."

"Do you enjoy being rude or is this some sort of personality quirk you were born with?" asked Cuchulainn.

Robert's smile faded all at once and he gazed at Cuchulainn with a steady, quiet and very cold glare. "I'm afraid it's been learned." With that he turned and jumped up at the branch above him and swung himself up onto it like a lazy cat. "And if you'll excuse me, but I'm going to catch up on my sleep."

All at once, the entire area seemed to fade away almost as quickly as it had appeared, turning back into the ruins at Doremy that Jeanne had seemed so attached to. Cuchulainn gazed at the place where the massive tree had been and where Robert had been and wondered what sort of mess the man had been through to make him become so suddenly cold and rude. What had forced him to become a thief? And, if Jeanne was to be believed, a thief could not get into this "God's Realm" then why was a self professed thief there?

So many questions rushed through Cuchulainn's brain and he knew he would have to find out the answers on a much later date. Jeanne turned away from Cuchulainn and crouched down before the stone cross as he watched her. "I will never understand why men must be rude to each other upon meeting one another," she said softly.

"Primal instinct, I suppose," said Cuchulainn, smiling faintly. "I'm afraid that's just the way your God made men."

"God made Adam from the Earth and found that Adam was lonely, so he made Eve from Adam's rib to be his wife," said Jeanne as she closed her eyes.

"Sounds about right, I suppose," said Cuchulainn, chuckling. "Or it could just be some stupid tale to explain why we came to be."

"It is not a stupid tale!" Jeanne growled low as she turned slowly to glare angrily at Cuchulainn. She stood up finally and walked right up to him, though she could not go eye to eye with him. "The point is that man and woman were made to keep each other company, to be together, not apart. The point is that God made us to be able to come together so we might share in the friendship and love of being his creations. Man without woman is lonely and woman without man is lonely. The same could be said of friends, lovers and family!"

Cuchulainn smirked faintly and leaned closer toward Jeanne. She didn't budge in the slightest. "So, are you going to keep me company then?"

Cuchulainn wasn't certain how on in Heaven or Hell he had ended up being tossed to the ground, but he was certain that it involved a well placed blow to his face by Jeanne's fist flying at him. By the time he managed to sit up and rub his jaw where she had decked him she had walked off in her anger and disappeared from view. He wanted to laugh but his face hurt from where she hit him, so he decided on shaking his head and counting his blessings that she seemed to decided only slugging him was more beneficiary than outright trying to kill him all over again like Boudica had.

Cuchulainn stood up after a while and dusted himself off before heading back into the wherever to go to Emer. He was certain that he would one day see Robert and Jeanne once more, but decided that finding something else to do besides picking on other people would be a good idea. After all, this was eternity wasn't it?


End file.
